


I Want A Reason For the Way Things Have To Be

by daysofinspiration



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, F/F, Racism, Self-Harm, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daysofinspiration/pseuds/daysofinspiration
Summary: Maggie Sawyer doesn't have the first words her soulmate will say to her written somewhere on her skin. She has a problem.Maggie Sawyer doesn't have her own soulmate's words on her skin. She has somebody else's.





	I Want A Reason For the Way Things Have To Be

**Author's Note:**

> title from calling all angels by train

The day the words appear on Maggie's skin, she doesn't notice.

They show up on her left hip, two lines of dark words elegantly wrapping over her skin, and she doesn't notice them. She's too busy trying to avoid looking at her own body so that the memories of last night don't surface. She's too busy trying to keep the other girls in the change room from noticing her so that they don't see the bruises she's hiding.

Purple and blue and green bruises; some of which happen to cover the words.

She yanks her gym shirt down hard and fast, keeping her body curved inwards, towards the lockers. Her eyes dart to the sides, checking to be sure none of the girls standing closest to her are looking at her.

No one sees the bruises, and Maggie doesn't see the words.

Maggie takes a deep breath, and then her hands fly, jeans coming off and gym shorts coming on in one hurried motion. Then she's stepping back into her running shoes and slamming her locker door, hands balled into fists at her sides as she darts out of the change room, eyes flicking back and forth to make sure no one is watching her, no one sees her, no one saw what she hides.

The words are on Maggie's skin for close to a week before she notices them.

She doesn't spend a lot of time looking at herself in the mirror. She doesn't check her skin every morning, like her friends do, waiting for the words to show up.

If Maggie checks her skin in the morning, it’s to be sure that no discolouration peaks out from beneath her clothes.

He's usually pretty good, her father, when he shakes her up, about keeping it where other people won't see. About not marking her face, or her arms, when he gets angry.

But Maggie checks her skin, catalogues the angry marks so that if one does show, if someone does notice, she has an answer waiting when they ask her what happened. So that she's not left sputtering  _my father lost five grand in poker last night and took it out on me,_  or,  _the car broke down again and when my mother implied he was the reason we couldn't afford to fix it he got angry and I was the closest thing to hit,_ or,  _a buddy at work reminded my father how much money he owes him and he was still angry about it when he got home so he shoved me into a wall when I told him I needed money for the school trip._

Maggie is hyper-aware of the bruises on her skin and at keeping them hidden, but not much else about her body. She's hyper-aware of the bruises on her skin and ensuring they are covered with clothing, but she tries not to actually  _look_  at her body all that often because seeing the black and blue makes her sick.

So, it comes as a surprise.

She's in the shower. One hand is a little sore from a bad hit at softball practice, so she grabs the shampoo gingerly.

It slips out of her grasp, falls, and lands next to her left foot. She glances down, moving to pick it up, and then her eyes notice.

The dark blue and purple on her hip from earlier in the week has faded, giving way to yellow tinged with green. And very clearly, words underneath.

She stands dumbfounded in the spray of water, arms out, staring at her hip.

There are a lot of words. Two clear lines of them. Scrawled along her skin. Maggie doesn't register what they say right away. She's still too surprised by their appearance.

She's nearly thirteen, so it makes sense. The soulmate’s words generally appear between twelve and sixteen. Everybody knows this. Maggie knows this.

But Maggie's never really contemplated her soulmate before. She's still a kid. She doesn't particularly  _want_  a soulmate right now. Right now, she's more focused on softball practice and bike races and catching frogs near the river on the edge of town.

Alice was the first girl in Maggie's class to get her soulmate tattoo – which said  _hey, do you know when the next bus arrives?_ And after that, a lot of the girls started talking about them. Fantasising and gushing about the words and who their soulmates are as first one and then another appeared on her friends' skin.

The words easily lend themselves to daydreaming – etched there forever, the first words their soulmate will ever say to them. The girls in her class love to think about how those first encounters will go, how the situation will arise. Who will speak first, them or their soulmate, since their own unknown words are inked into their soulmates' skin as well, a matching pair.

Maggie has never really taken an interest in boys, not that way, so generally, she squirms and changes the subject when the girls ask her what she thinks her future husband's words will be and what he'll look like.

When the boys in her class start getting their tattoos, they brag about them and push and shove at each other awkwardly. Which isn't really much better than how the girls act about the marks.

Maggie's never really thought about her soulmate, about his first words to her appearing somewhere on her skin.

She drags her eyes away and finishes her shower, scrubbing the dirt and sweat from practice off herself, trying not to think about how the knowledge that the words are there now doesn't excite her.

When Alice showed up at school the first day after her words appeared, she was bubbling and giddy and shrieking happily as she showed off her shoulder to her friends, who all cooed and awwed.

Maggie doesn't feel giddy. She feels boxed in. She doesn't like the idea that there's some boy out there she's destined to be with. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't make her happy. She feels disappointed and a little apathetic towards the whole thing. She doesn't really want there to be a boy?

She may feel unsure about the idea of having to marry a boy one day, but her feelings towards the tattoo change when she gets out of the shower and realises she should probably read the stupid thing.

After drying herself off and dragging a brush through her hair, she sits on the side of the bathtub and pulls the towel aside.

Trying to ignore the rainbow of angry colours on her torso that document her father's anger, her father's gambling away of their money, Maggie looks down at the words on her hip.

 

_she's right, you know, that really is your colour, i'm sure that dress looks amazing on you_

**oh, um, thanks, i, uh, i like your, i like your boots**

 

Maggie frowns as she reads and rereads the words, processing them. The first line is written in an elegant scrawl, thin and angled and loopy. It's similar to the cursive writing Maggie had to learn in elementary school.

The second line is written in small, sharp letters. They are boxy and a little uneven, like the penmanship belongs to someone who cares more about hastily getting all the notes down than making their writing look nice.

The soulmate marks are always written in your soulmate's handwriting.

But this. This is two very different styles of writing. This looks like…

A conversation?

Her mother pounding on the bathroom door twenty minutes later brings Maggie's awareness back to the present. Her hair is still damp, but it's dry enough. She brushes her teeth, pulls on a pair of superhero boxers and a baseball jersey, stomps out of the bathroom, and goes outside.

Outside in the backyard is the big tree with the treehouse her father built for her when she was little. The treehouse, where – even though she's older now and isn't sure if having a treehouse is cool anymore – she still spends a lot of her time. Inside she has comic books, a box of cookies, and a sleeping bag.

It's almost summertime, so the weather is nice out, warm enough for Maggie to sleep outside. She spends a lot of time in the treehouse lately, when she needs to get away from her mother's heavy sighs about how expensive things are getting and her father’s anger when he loses the money they do have. She comes up here to get away from his temper and his rough hands when he lashes out at the closest thing he can reach.

The closest thing he can reach is often Maggie because Maggie doesn't like seeing her father rough up her mother. So Maggie usually makes herself the closest thing her father can see when his anger rises.

She climbs up and drops heavily onto the sleeping bag, still thinking about the tattoo.

She eases the waistband of the boxers down a little, finding the words again.

 

_she's right, you know, that really is your colour, i'm sure that dress looks amazing on you_

**oh, um, thanks, i, uh, i like your, i like your boots**

 

This is clearly a conversation, and Maggie thinks it could be a conversation between two people meeting for the first time, which is what the soulmate marks are.

But the soulmark is supposed to be one side of a conversation. Not both.

She's very certain of something.

Maggie is certain that she's broken, that there's something wrong with her. Because this is clearly a conversation between two people who are not her. She has the first words of two other people meeting on her skin. She has the first words of another pair of soulmates written on her.

And no words of her own soulmate.

She's broken.

She's never heard of this happening before. She's never heard of someone not having a soulmate, which, it is glaringly obvious at this point that she does not have one.

Maggie does not have a soulmate.

But somehow, she's even more messed up. Because she has the words of two people who will fall in love with each other, completely unaware of Maggie, taunting her. And these words will stay on her skin forever, mocking her for the rest of her life.

If she didn't care about the mark before, she sure cares now.

And she hates it.

* * *

Her hip burns.

It absolutely burns. A glaring, simmering, daily reminder that Maggie will always be alone.

Over the next year, Maggie tries a lot of things she isn't proud of to try and make the words go away. She isn't a stranger to pain, not with how rough her father gets after he gambles away more of their savings.

But each time she tries, she cries. She sobs, hot angry tears, as she tries to carve the taunting words off her skin. But she always heals, and the words remain unblemished. Mocking her and her misery. Her skin looks angry and red, but the words stay the same.

The pain she causes herself trying to make the words disappear hurts, but the pain each time they remain hurts even more.

Because it reminds Maggie that she's broken.

It reminds her that not only does she not have someone – that she will never truly have someone – but that other people do. Other people will continue to find love and happiness in the world. And she will be left alone.

She blacks out the words with permanent marker. Constantly. Endlessly. Daily. Each time the marker looks like it is starting to fade, each time the pair of elegant and choppy scrawls start to show through, she blacks it out. Redacts it. Removes it from her memory. Censors it from her skin.

Maggie knows the words are still there, still hiding underneath. But covering them with black ink gives Maggie control, it gives her an inkling of power over something that everyone is powerless to stop.

She considers a real tattoo, to cover the words up, to hide them from the world. But that would mean she would have to show them to someone in order to have them inked over.

And Maggie does not dare show her hip to anyone.

She doesn't breathe a word to anyone, doesn't even consider letting on that she has her soulmate mark.

Maggie already knows she's a failure. Maggie already knows that she's stuck in a crappy, all-white town with no way out, stuck with a father she can't stand up to and a mother it hurts to stand up for, stuck with the knowledge that her family can hardly afford food.

Maggie already knows she's a failure. She doesn't need the rest of the world to know it too.

* * *

Maggie is fourteen, a wide-eyed freshman in a new school, with a hidden, constant smudge of black permanent marker over her left hip that hides painful scabs and scars and even more painful words.

Maggie is fourteen and realises that, if she did have a soulmate, it would not be a boy.

It would be a girl.

And right now, she wishes it were that girl, the one whose locker is next to hers.

It comes to Maggie suddenly one day, three weeks into September. The high school pools kids from more than just Blue Springs, which is hardly even a blip on a map. And so Maggie starts her ninth grade with kids she's never met mixed with kids she's known since she was in diapers.

Neither option is better than the other because the boy shoving her into the dirt is one she doesn't know, but two of the kids backing him up are ones she's known her whole life.

The boy sits on her back, knees tightly clamping her arms to her sides. She struggles and bucks underneath him, legs kicking out desperately as the surrounding kids jeer him on as he uses both hands to shove her face into the dirt. To shove her face into the dirt, because–

He calls her a lot of nasty things; he calls her as many nasty things as he can think of for as many non-white races as he knows, and punctuates it by telling her that she is dirt, so he will make her eat dirt until she understands that.

Maggie's dealt with this before, but she's learning that high school kids are  _mean._  High school kids are bigger and stronger and more vicious than elementary school kids. High school kids are bursting with colourful words and cocky confidence in their actions she's never encountered before.

When elementary school kids hurt her, she fought back. When high school kids hurt her, she fights back and gets punched so hard her face bruises right away and she sees stars for hours. High school kids  _hurt._

She's been teased before, for not being white enough.

She's been bullied before, for not being white enough.

But she's never been beaten and left like this before, lying in the dirt after school, cheek cut open, ribs screaming in pain from their kicks, ears ringing with all the nasty things he said. Some of the words he used are slurs for races that Maggie is not, but she is not white and that is all that matters to them. Some of the words he used are words Maggie has never even heard before, but she knows they are cruel.

Her hands shake, but Maggie gets herself to her knees. Her body aches and she thinks she's going to lose her lunch, but she makes it to her feet. Then she keeps her head down, eyes steely and refusing to let her tormentors see her tears, and trudges back into the school.

In the girls' washroom, which is, mercifully, empty, Maggie stares at herself in the mirror.

It's been a long time since she's really looked at herself like this, watched her own face and looked into her own eyes.

Maggie doesn't like, has never liked, what she sees.

A scrawny kid, with muddy eyes and dirty brown skin. A girl, who is more of a tomboy. A teenager, with haunted eyes, bruises on her back, and the weight of her family's money problems on her shoulders. A soul, who will never have a mate.

The door opens and Maggie startles, hunching her shoulders and turning away while hastily wiping her arm across her face; dragging away the tears but only managing to smear the blood and dirt.

"Maggie? It’s Maggie, right?"

Maggie absolutely hates herself for it, but she turns around.

It's the girl with the pretty eyes and the lovely hair and the beautiful smile. The girl whose locker is right next to her own. The girl Maggie finds herself staring at more and more. The girl with the name like sunshine bursting through clouds. Elisa.

She looks at Maggie softly, hesitantly. "I saw what they did to you."

Maggie sucks in a breath and hardens her face, but does not speak. She doesn't trust her voice to speak. She hardly trusts her legs to stand right now.

"I…" Elisa starts, "they shouldn't… it was… no one should be treated like that."

Maggie crosses her arms over her chest. "Yeah, well," she mumbles.

"Here." Elisa offers a shirt in one hand and a towel in the other. "I'm in art class, I do a lot of painting. So I always have spares in case I get paint on me. I figured you…" She holds out her offer to Maggie, waiting. "I just thought…"

Maggie doesn't move.

Elisa frowns to herself and blinks a few times like she might cry, and Maggie can't figure out why this girl would cry when she's the one who was just shoved into the dirt and beaten up because she isn't white enough.

But Maggie doesn't want to see Elisa frown, her heart squeezes in a way it never has before when she sees Elisa frown sadly. So Maggie uncrosses her arms and takes a shy step forward.

Maggie clutches the spare shirt in her fists as Elisa leans Maggie against the sink. She wets the towel under the faucet and delicately begins wiping the blood and dirt and unacknowledged tears from Maggie's face. Maggie doesn't fidget, doesn't flinch because she is no stranger to pain. But she wouldn't need to flinch anyway, because Elisa's touch is so gentle, hardly there at all.

Elisa studies Maggie's face as she works, but Maggie watches Elisa's eyes.

The thoughts have come to her before, more frequently over the last few weeks, that if she did have a soulmate, she thinks it might have been a girl. Because Maggie, well, she's never really thought anything of boys, but lately girls have sent her blushing and sputtering, have sent her heart fluttering and her stomach rolling.

Girls.

She might, she might like girls.

She isn't sure – she is sure but tries to doubt herself, to convince herself she isn't sure – but wishes it wasn't true.

Because she's already a failure. Because she already isn't white enough for this small, white town.

Now this, too?

She knows she doesn't have a soulmate. But looking up into Elisa's eyes? Maggie is scared. Because no one has ever looked at Maggie with eyes like that. With eyes that say she sees her, she cares, she wants to help.

Maggie is no stranger to pain, but Maggie has always been the one to pick up her own pieces, to dress her own wounds. No one has ever cared before. No one has ever seen her pain before.

No one has ever looked at Maggie with eyes like liquid sorrow. Eyes of sorrow, but also compassion, caring, understanding, and friendship. Eyes that say she wants to stop Maggie's pain.

It’s new and it’s overwhelming and Maggie is so, so scared.

Her hip burns.

She wishes it were Elisa's words marked on her skin.

* * *

He doesn't give Maggie a chance to pack when it happens, when the world falls out from under her.

Her mother won’t meet her eyes, and her father looks at her with disgust, with anger and fury and utter disappointment. The hallway between them is like a canyon, huge and ripping larger with each passing moment her father points her to the door and Maggie doesn't move.

Maggie is shaking, is crying, and is too terrified to move. There is a roaring in her ears and a keening in her heart and she feels utterly broken.

Her mother stands shadowed behind her father, looking away, but her expression betrays her shame at the knowledge of what her daughter has done, at what her daughter is. Her mother, whom Maggie stands up for, whom Maggie stands in front of when the topic of money comes up – which is often, so, so often, in their household. Her mother, for whom Maggie tries to take every blow directed at her. Because Maggie may be a failure, but Maggie knows she is young and strong, and her mother is a ghost, is silent, and Maggie doesn't know how much more her mother can take before she breaks. So Maggie always stands in front of her, takes the blows meant for her.

Her mother won’t even meet her eyes.

He snarls at her again, to get out of his house. To take her disgusting, filthy – and many other words Maggie will never be able to un-hear – self and get out of his home.

He takes one single threatening step forward, his pointing finger turning into a raised hand, and Maggie is gone.

It takes her twenty minutes of aimless walking, of repeatedly, reflexively, jerking her arm across her cheeks to wipe away the tears, before she realises where her legs are taking her.

It's starting to drizzle now, but Maggie hardly notices. She already feels cold and hollow inside, the dampness of the rain doesn't reach her.

It's close to a two-hour walk, and the roads are not well lit at this time of night. Her aunt doesn't live in Blue Springs; she lives in the same county, but in the next town over. Numbly, Maggie walks the dark country roads, flinching every time a car's headlights illuminate her shuffling at the side of the road as they drive past.

Country roads, country woods, are not the safest place to be at this time of night.

But she doesn't really have a choice, and it feels like her world has already crashed down into nothingness anyway.

She's fourteen. And she carries nothing with her. And she is homeless.

Her aunt isn't home when Maggie finally arrives, chilled to her bones, feeling numb and empty.

She sits down on the porch and waits, unsure what else to do, but with no other option.

She wakes when her aunt pulls into the driveway, headlights shining brightly into Maggie's eyes. She's cold; she's so very cold and stiff from leaning against one of the railings. But she manages to get to her feet, only swaying slightly, as the car door closes and her aunt approaches.

Her aunt stands at the base of the porch, lips parted in awe and concern, looking up at her niece for a long moment. And then she's moving, coaxing Maggie inside, into the dry clothes she's offering her, in front of the fire she's lighting, onto the couch and under the blankets she's draping over her. She presses a mug of something warm and steaming into Maggie's shaking hands.

Maggie thinks her aunt speaks, more than once, actually, but she doesn't register anything.

She's already so damaged, so broken, so much of a failure. Now she's a disappointment and a burden too.

Maggie doesn't remember drifting off, but she wakes to the sounds of shouting.

She's in her aunt's bed, under a mountain of blankets and with a hot water bottle pressed against her feet. The room is dark but the door is open a crack and the light from the hallway spills in.

Her aunt is on the phone with what Maggie's assumes is her father, her aunt's brother-in-law. Her words are low and clipped, but every so often she lets her rage burst out, unable to reign in her emotions as she shouts brokenly into the phone.

Maggie ignores the words. She lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling and reciting the periodic table to herself until the door opens further and her aunt stands on the threshold, watching her.

Maggie stays still, looking at the ceiling.

Her aunt sits on the edge of the bed and Maggie flinches away.

"It's okay, baby. It's okay. You're safe, Mags. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. I love you," she insists. "I still love you, no matter what they said, no matter what the world says about you."

The first words she croaks out in hours, the first words she's said since the sky – the sky with a name like sunshine bursting out from behind the clouds – swallowed her whole, are weak and helpless. "They don't… I'm… they said that I, that, that I…" She feels so small and weak, like the world is crushing her.

Her aunt reaches forward slowly, tenderly, and strokes Maggie's cheek. Tucks her hair behind her ear. "I know, Mags. I know what they said. And you're going to stay right here with me."

"There was… I'm… There's this… I'm a… I'm…" Her breath keeps hitching, keeps gasping. Her body is still protecting itself, trying to keep the words inside.

Her aunt leans over Maggie, lying down on the other side of the bed, and pulls Maggie close, hugs and clutches Maggie tight to her chest. "Don't tell me now, honey, don't tell me when it hurts this much, when you're ashamed. You don't need to be ashamed. Just sleep now, just sleep, baby. I'm here, I've got you, you're safe here. Just sleep, and we can sort out the world in the morning."

* * *

At seventeen, Maggie graduates high school with honours and a scholarship, which are two words Maggie never thought would be applied to her.

But she makes it, and her aunt is there with her, supporting her, the entire time. And now Maggie has a ticket out of the place that is trying to suffocate her.

They sit on either side of the booth, skin sticking to the plastic in the June heat. Maggie's face hurts from smiling so much, standing on the dinky stage in a gown not designed for this heat while her aunt cheered her on, louder than any of the other parents.

When it was finally over, and her aunt had conceded that she had taken a sufficient number of photographs of Maggie in her hat and gown, Maggie with her diploma scroll, Maggie clumped with and hugging her friends, they left the high school.

"Let's go for ice cream, baby. You've earned it."

It's just as hot and sticky inside the building as it is outside, but it doesn't matter because Maggie feels lighter than she's felt in years.

Her aunt didn't make her go to school the next few days after Maggie showed up dripping and shaking in the middle of the night. And she was the one who went to Maggie's parents' house to pack a bag for her niece.

After a month, her parents finally came around, demanding Maggie come home, insisting her stunt for attention was over.

"Enough of this, Roberta. She's our daughter and she will come home."

"Bobbie, please, you've made your point."

But her aunt stood firm, a heavy, comforting hand on Maggie's shoulder, as Maggie shook her head and refused to go back home, refused to go back to the place that made her feel like she was nothing, to the people who hurt her, with their words and with their actions, time and time again.

She may still be damaged and broken, but she feels loved here, and she can be herself here. She doesn't have to hide who she is from her aunt.

Her first Christmas with her aunt, and every one after, her aunt makes a big fuss about family and togetherness. They drive the four hours to see Maggie's maternal family. Maggie sees her grandparents, her aunts and uncles and her cousins, and participates in all the holiday traditions they have together.

Her parents do not come, and it makes Maggie ache inside despite how much she doesn't want to see them. The rest of the family is tense, is aware that Maggie's father kicked her out because there was a girl, a girl that Maggie loved desperately, that there are girls Maggie kisses and flirts with because she loves girls. But the tension eases when they see how much her aunt loves her and dotes on her, and it begins to rub off on the rest of the family.

Maggie's aunt makes sure Maggie still feels loved, still has a family.

Her mother still calls her sister every so often, to see how Maggie is doing. Her aunt doesn't tell Maggie, but Maggie knows. And it doesn't make the pain go away, but it helps.

The door chimes as a group of boys from her high school enter, rambunctious and loud and uncaring.

As they pass the booth Maggie and her aunt sit at one of the guys snarls something to both of them that makes Maggie see red for a moment. To the other people inside the building, his words are drowned out by the obnoxious laughter the other boys are making, but both women hear it.

And maybe once Maggie would have lunged across the table to tackle him to the ground – Maggie has done that, actually, numerous times, and to this boy in particular more than once.

But her aunt has thick skin, and Maggie is learning to have the same.

Maggie has a ticket out of this town, and she intends to use it.

She's worked at the post office, a good, stable, crappy-paying government job, for three and a half years now. Only a few months after moving in with her aunt Maggie decided she needed a job. She knows money; she grew up always being aware of money, being scared of not having money, of having to stretch and sacrifice and make do because of a lack of money. So she refuses to be a burden to her aunt.

Of course, her aunt refuses to take any of Maggie's money, which infuriates Maggie. But she agrees to let Maggie pay for groceries every other week so long as the rest is put into savings so Maggie can further her education. At fourteen Maggie had no idea what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew it was legal for her to work a part time job, and she knows the hardship of not having money, so she agrees, and opens a savings account and lands herself a job at the post office.

It’s extremely boring, but it isn't terribly difficult work. And during lulls, they don't mind if she pulls out her textbooks and assignments and studies for tests. Her grades don't slip; they increase, actually, because Maggie works harder than ever to balance school and work.

Working at the post office opens her up to a lot more of the town, to the county at large, and it feels like every person knows who she is. She stands out like a sore thumb in a sea of white faces, and by now it's common knowledge that she's a lesbian. She hears a lot of rude things muttered while people stand in line behind her counter.

But her aunt wears heavy armour, and Maggie is learning to wear the same.

Maggie doesn't buy a car; her aunt has an old junker she lets Maggie drive – she’s the one who teaches Maggie how to drive, something her father had always promised to do. Maggie hates the damn car, because if she didn't stand out already? She sure as hell does now. But it gets her where she needs to go and lets her save her money.

She works after school when she isn't playing softball, and she works weekends, and she works all through her next three summers. After nearly four years she's still hardly making a dime over minimum wage, but she's saved up a lot of money. And combined with a scholarship, she can finally leave the racist, homophobic bumfuck, nowhere place she calls home.

So she ignores the boy's words as he passes the table. In a few months, she'll be away from here and will never need to see him again.

Instead, she enjoys her ice cream with her aunt, as they laugh and tell stories and don't talk about how much they will miss each other when Maggie leaves.

Her aunt is nothing like her sister, is nothing like her brother-in-law, and is everything Maggie needed to help her through her teenage years; through bloody noses and black eyes and trips to the principal's office, through spray paint on her locker and keys etching slurs into her stupid car. Her aunt helps her through crushes and first loves, helps her grow to accept who she is.

She likes girls. She loves girls.

And if she had a soulmate, that soulmate would have been a girl.

Maggie is seventeen when she finally admits to having a soulmate mark; if she goes any longer without having one, people will start to whisper.

And it's not like they don't already whisper.

But she doesn't need to give them any more ammunition against her. Things are bad enough as it is.

So she tells her friends – she has only a few friends because she's queer and an outcast – she has her mark. When they ask what it says, her answer is  _I like your boots_  because the first line feels too intimate in its loopy cursive, and the second line is more casual but too stuttering, so she shortens it and cleans it up a bit.

She still blacks it out with black permanent marker every morning – she's gone through so many markers by now – because she hates the reminder that she's a complete failure who will never find love.

Maggie is sad that she's leaving soon, that she won’t have her aunt looking out for her anymore.

She offers the words to her aunt as the ice cream melts. Out of the blue, the words spill out. "It says  _I like your boots_. It's on my hip. It's been there for a while now, I just never…"

Her aunt smiles and nods. She's never pressed Maggie about her soulmate mark, never asked or wondered out loud. Her aunt lost her soulmate when Maggie was very little, and even now, it still hurts sometimes to think of him.

But she smiles warmly at her niece, saying, "There you go, Mags. You hold onto that hope. You let it get you through the next few years, okay? I know right now you may not want this girl's words, this girl's love, hanging over you. You want to go out and explore and be you. And that's okay. But you hold tight to that hope that there's someone out there who will love you for exactly who you are, love you like you deserve, love you as much, more than, I do."

Maggie spends the night sleeping in her stupid car, so her aunt can't hear her cry.

* * *

She has an exam in ethical issues and in developmental psychology tomorrow. She has a long-ass paper on the criminal code, a lab test on human anatomy – she fucking hates anatomy – and lab reports for both chemistry and physics due in the next three days. She has an assignment on chemical toxicology she hasn't started, and a group project on biological concepts that she's been ignoring because she hates her forensics biology professor and hates her group members even more.

She has all of these more pressing things to do, but currently, Maggie isn't focused on her schoolwork.

It's finals week of the second semester of her second year – and she's double majoring in criminal justice and forensic science because why make things easy for herself – so she's been through this a few times now and knows how serious finals week is. And she's taking extra courses, more than her required workload for her program, because she's an overachieving idiot. She's stretched pretty thin right now. But studying is the last thing on Maggie's mind.

Right now, Maggie's focus is on the girl's tongue in her mouth.

She's lying topless on her dorm room bed while the girl begins sucking on her neck and grinding down on her hips.

It's a Tuesday night, her roommate basically lives at the library right now, and sex is a great way to procrastinate and de-stress at the same time.

The girl mouths her way down Maggie's chest, over her nipple, along her navel, and Maggie bucks and arches into the thigh pressed roughly between her own. Her hands reach up but the girl takes her wrists and pins her down firmly.

"Down girl, you had your fun. It's my turn now."

Maggie's fun was shoving the girl against her bedroom door and sticking her hand down her pants, fucking her hard and fast before any clothes had even been taken off, before they'd even made it to the bed.

Which is where they are now. And Maggie isn't complaining. The night is still young.

She kisses her way to the waistband of Maggie's jeans, undoing them and beginning to drag them down her legs.

The lights are off and she's breathing heavy and her body feels on fire, but she knows what's happened as soon as the girl stops.

Maggie sighs and glances down, leaning up on her elbows.

"That's a weird tattoo," the girl says, staring at the solid, thin black rectangle on Maggie's hip.

"Soulmark," Maggie says.

"Why is it…?"

"Redacted?"

The girl is still sitting on Maggie's legs, has gone back to slowly easing her pants off, but her eyes are on the black mark that Maggie didn't really think would be all that noticeable in the dark.

"Well, yeah."

Maggie smirks, "Can't fool around with destiny watching."

The girl seems to ponder this and opens her mouth – probably to offer up where her own soulmate mark is – but Maggie has had enough of talking. She threads her fingers through the girl's hair and drags her closer so she can stick her tongue back in the girl's mouth.

* * *

Maggie passes all her exams with high marks, aces all of her papers and assignments, flunks the anatomy lab test but still passes the course, and scrapes by on her completely unnecessary project on the concepts of identification and collection of bodily fluid crime scene samples for her stupidass forensics biology class because thank fuck for group work.

Maggie is a disaster, a failure at most things in life as far as she's concerned, but she likes science and wants to see justice in the world. She's lining herself up to work in science-flavoured criminology, but isn't completely sure where she'll end up yet. But she knows she wants to help people, to stand up for people in the community the way people did not stand up for her.

Since she was fourteen and suddenly homeless she's been working her ass off to make her aunt proud, getting a job as early as she could, saving her money, controlling her anger and not punching her racist schoolmates, earning a scholarship, and pushing herself hard in university. A little tension release in the face of the worst week of the semester isn't going to stop that.

She still re-inks her hip with permanent marker every day. Every day. It's become part of her routine in the morning. She analyses it in the mirror, and if she can even see a hint of the lettering, she drags a marker over it again. Blacking out the pain and hollowness she feels. Bottling up how much it hurts being alone, knowing she'll always be alone.

She may be broken and without a soulmate, but the words of these two strangers that will – may have already? – meet and fall in love will not be there to taunt her.

It feels like she goes through markers faster than she goes through hot pockets.

This will be her first summer without her aunt, her first summer not in Nebraska, and it starts to get to her. She misses her aunt, hasn't seen her in weeks and even though she hates it back home, staying away for the summer is harder. So when she comes back to her dorm room after long days at her summer placement shadowing a probation officer – her program doesn't require co-op placement for another year but she's already an overachiever so why the fuck not, and it will get her farther than working at the post office for another summer anyway – she starts trying to cut the words out again.

The words don't want to be cut out, no matter how deep she digs, no matter how much she mars and bloodies her skin. The two lines, one elegant and the other hurried, still remain.

But the pain helps with the loneliness.

* * *

Maggie stops obsessing over her soulmate mark – stops inking the words over and digging the words out – once she enters the police academy. She does this largely because she doesn't have the time or energy anymore. The program lasts over four months, and by the end of the first one, she's dead tired.

It’s exhilarating and she feels more focused than she did while she was in her undergrad, feels more connected and filled with purpose. But she doesn't have the time to keep blacking out the words.

Maggie thinks it’s a good step towards accepting her fate, that seeing her mark no longer fills her with anguish. She still feels empty, but she's used to it now; the pain is less hot and fiery and more a dull ache.

Also, with the physicality of some of the academy classes she's attending, she can't afford to keep dragging open her hip and keep it raw and inflamed all the time. She can't afford to let it get infected, again, like she may have let happen during her final year where her classes became more important than her own health; mental, physical, or otherwise.

So the soulmate mark stops becoming the centre of her depression, the gravity of her anger, and just becomes words on skin.

But some days Maggie still needs  _something_ , so she covers the mark up with a pair of band-aids, neatly lined together to perfectly cover up the emptiness she's come to expect when she wakes every morning.

* * *

On Maggie's sixteenth birthday her aunt bought Maggie her first leather jacket. Black and worn, it became part of her armour when she faced the world; when she faced the racist, homophobic assholes she went to high school with.

It became part of the armour her aunt helped her polish, and the more she wore the jacket, the less she got into scraps and fights at school with people who thought that just because she was small and an outcast and an obvious target that she wouldn't fight back.

Her leather jacket was her most prized possession. Other birthdays had brought other gifts, but nothing before or since had left Maggie sobbing into her aunt's arms, amazed at just how much love and generosity this woman had to offer a girl who's own parents had kicked her out of their life. It was just a jacket, but somehow, it was the lifeblood of her relationship with her aunt.

Her first week as a fully-fledged police officer, Maggie’s jacket ends up shredded beyond repair.

It's Maggie's fault, really, for brilliantly deciding to run into a bad situation while off-duty and without any gear.

But Maggie believes in justice, in standing up, so walking home from a bar on her night off and hearing the words "sick fag" followed by multiple slick blunt impacts?

Yeah. She ran headfirst into that one.

Younger Maggie, high school Maggie, would have dove right into the fight, consequences be damned.

Officer Sawyer stands at the mouth of the alley, making herself as tall and threatening as she knows how. It’s clear from her words that she's a cop, and the four kids take off. They all run in the same direction, but it's about the only luck she has on her side that night.

Maggie struggles internally, wanting to help the beaten boy on the ground but also wanting to go after the offenders. But a young couple followed her into the alley when they heard her shouting. The woman already has her phone out and the man drops to his knees to stop the bleeding. So Officer Sawyer takes pursuit.

She is well aware that it is a stupid, rookie move.

Like, the stupidest. She's aware.

But she's been there, bloody and beaten for being gay, and she's become a cop to stop this sort of thing, to protect all the young queer kids she can.

So she runs.

And gets clotheslined by a rebar pipe across the chest.

It goes downhill from there.

At the end of her chase and the knife fight she is not prepared for the leather jacket is left in tatters, forgotten in a puddle near a sewer grate.

But she manages not to get shot; instead, she  _moves_  and the kid with the gun ends up shooting one of his own, one of the other kids trying to hold Maggie back.

She manages to effectively take down two of the four before backup arrives. The third kid is caught within minutes of the first squad car pulling up, and the fourth is found a day later when his friends give up his name.

Maggie is thoroughly reprimanded by her commanding officer. He chews her out in the middle of the bullpen, where the entire precinct can hear.

But that doesn't matter. Because the boy's parents thank Maggie up and down, telling her she's the reason their son is alive. Their son is alive. Because of Maggie.

Her partner, an experienced man who isn't one for talking, takes her out for breakfast and coffee after each shift for the next week. And he pays each time. So even if he won't – can't, really, because he is her superior and Maggie did a very dumb thing – say it out loud, he's proud of Maggie for following her instincts.

"You're a good cop, kid. Still green, but good," is all her partner does say, and it's enough for Maggie.

Maggie works the night shift. Not because she's newly minted and that's what she's assigned to do. She volunteered for it. Maggie is young, isn't in love, and has no prospects of love at all. She has no family or children to care for, so she figures it's better her than someone else.

She may hate the entire concept of soulmates by this point in her life, but if her working nights means someone else can work day shift and actually spend time with their own soulmate? Well, Maggie's empty inside, but she isn't heartless.

By this point, she's in her twenties, and most of the people she knows have found their soulmates. Sure, not everyone has. Plenty of people don't find their soulmates until later in life, but  _everyone_  in her graduating class at the academy and damn near all of her friends from her undergrad have found their soulmates by now.

It gets harder and harder, being the odd one out. Hearing  _you'll find them someday_ , and,  _sometimes these things take time_ , and,  _you're still young, you've got your whole life to find them_ , and,  _you never know, they could be right around the corner,_  and,  _don't give up hope, you'll meet them eventually_ , and so many other pitying phrases she's been hearing for years.

In a moment of weakness, Maggie calls her aunt. Calls her, and makes her swear never to question how long Maggie's taking to find her soulmate. Her aunt agrees with a smile in her voice, but she doesn't dish out any of the popular phrases that make Maggie's skin crawl.

Her aunt just says, "Sure, Mags," and then starts telling her about a stray cat she found.

And her aunt, true to her word, never brings up her missing soulmate. Not that it’s a usual topic of conversation between them, but it helps Maggie, knowing at least someone isn't shoving her towards a cliff without knowing she doesn't have a parachute.

But it does get hard, knowing there's no one out there. She drinks a little more than she should some nights, but her partner looks out for her, and her aunt is just a phone call or a plane ticket away.

Maggie doesn't look at the mark anymore. She's given up trying to rid her body of it, given up trying to black it out, for the most part. Sometimes she still needs the marker. But she stops looking. Stops caring.

At work, she lets her passion for helping people, for doing the right thing, flare.

At home, she's quiet and reserved – and probably still depressed, if she were to look closely at her life – but she's accepted it, that she's alone and undeserving of a soulmate's love.

She gets a dog; a large, gangly, brown-and-tan thing she thinks is probably part Doberman. He keeps a lot of the loneliness at bay. They go jogging every morning after her shift. And they go to the park on her days off and play fetch until Maggie's arm aches and her goofball collapses at her feet, panting and drooling and staring up adoringly at her.

Maggie earns her first bullet wound and accompanying scar her third month as an officer.

But even now, a decade later, Maggie is still no stranger to pain. So she grunts, pauses for a moment, and then keeps going until she takes the suspect down. And she sits still in the back of the van while a paramedic tries to sew her up and simultaneously flirt with her about how daring and brave she was.

Maggie takes the girl home. They spend a nice few weeks together. It isn't real, Maggie knows this, the girl knows this, but it's nice. They can both pretend for a little while.

The girl meets her soulmate two months later and Maggie never sees her again.

Such is life.

* * *

Maggie's a good cop, a dedicated cop. She volunteers and does community outreach. She works hard and generally doesn't complain. No one at the precinct is surprised when she earns her badge as a detective in less than four years. She works closely with the forensics department for a few years after that, but when she gets a job offer to move to the west coast to work in the science division of the National City police department, she takes it without question.

There's nothing tying her down where she is right now. It means she'll be further away from her aunt, but they're offering her a higher pay, and even now, when Maggie no longer needs to worry about money, Maggie still worries about money.

She spent too many years of her youth in a house that struggled to afford food for it not to be a part of her now.

So she packs up her dog, packs up her things, and moves.

She hardly thinks about her soulmark now. She's gone the last few years actively ignoring it, and now it's become second nature.

Now it's just a stupid tattoo she got in her youth, one she regrets, but has never bothered to get removed or covered. It's there, but her eyes don't see it anymore.

* * *

Her first three Thanksgivings in National City Maggie flies her aunt out of Nebraska and into the sun for a vacation. She goes home for Christmas, and for a week each summer, but Thanksgiving she claims as her own.

This year, though, her aunt insists Maggie come home and visit instead, that she has too many things going on to up and leave.

Maggie has a dog to take care of and would rather not fly with him, or leave him in a kennel, but she gives in. Because this is the woman who raised her, who took her in and loved her and gave her everything she could in life. Maggie is enormously grateful for that. And 'tis the season for gratefulness, so.

The two weeks before Thanksgiving Maggie decides she needs something nice to wear to her aunt's. Her detective wardrobe is drab – mostly navy blues, blacks, and greys, so she figures she can go out and find something nice to wear.

She knows her aunt worries about her. She never says anything, she keeps her promise and never asks, but Maggie can see in her eyes that her aunt is starting to worry about Maggie. She's concerned about how much time and energy she puts into her work, that Maggie doesn't do a lot recreationally outside of work and volunteering, and that Maggie doesn't interact with a lot of people or have a whole lot of friends outside of work. She sees that Maggie is depressed, and has been for a long time.

And she's concerned each time Maggie doesn't bring home a girl.

Maggie can't change the last one, the soulmate marks are law and Maggie's life revolves around following the law. But she can at least attempt on the other ones, or convince her aunt that she's attempting anyway. She wants the best for Maggie.

It isn't her aunt's fault that Maggie plateaued at twelve, the day the mark peeked out from beneath the bruises.

So Maggie goes to the mall, with a resolve to leave with a few nice new clothes to wear for the holiday. Preferably nothing in black, navy blue, or grey if she can help it.

The third department store Maggie tries, she finds a few things worth trying on. Stepping into the small, mirrored room, Maggie feels hollow and small. New clothes are just a charade, and her aunt will probably see through them, see the unhappiness and emptiness Maggie tries to hide.

She tugs off her shirt and tries on the first of her picks, eyes naturally and unconsciously avoiding looking at her left hip.

The shirt doesn't, well, it doesn't fit right, it doesn't suit Maggie, but it's a start.

She thinks that maybe she can do this. For her aunt. Maggie can try and pull this off for the only woman she'll ever have in her life.

A phone in the stall next to Maggie's goes off, and she hears a bit of fumbling before the woman answers, "What's up? I'm a little busy."

Maggie pulls off her first pick and tries another.

"No, Kara, I'm not – I'm not always at work, you know?"

Maggie smirks. The fitting rooms only have about seven stalls, so it's a small space, and the woman's voice is loud and unembarrassed as she speaks into the open space. It's not that Maggie is trying to listen, but there isn't much she can do to avoid hearing the conversation, or one side of it anyway.

"No, I'm trying on clothes. A black shirt. I do  _not_  always wear black," she argues back. "Oh, like you would know." The woman huffs.

Maggie's second shirt looked convincingly nice on the hanger but looks hideous on her body so she practically rips it off.

"Kara, I swear, I am not telling you what colour my bra is."

Maggie rolls her eyes.

"It's not black."

Maggie has a hunch that it's probably black.

The woman gives up her fight way too easily. "Okay, okay, fine. Yes. Yes," she sighs. "Kara, you don't see me in my underwear  _that_  often. No, that is a complete lie." Her voice takes on a softer tone as she asks, "Hey, I'm not that predictable, am I?"

Of all the change rooms, Maggie has to end up in one where she's forced to listen to a woman flirt with her girlfriend.

There's a lull from the other side of the flimsy wall as the girlfriend speaks. Maggie tries on two more shirts, one of them she doesn't hate, and one of them she actually really likes. She looks at herself in the mirror from a few different angles, contemplating.

It isn't something she'd normally wear. But it is definitely something that would make her aunt smile. She pulls it off and puts it to one side.

"No, I told mom I'd be out of town for Thanksgiving. Kara, no. No, I don't," she grunts, "Kara, you know all we do is fight, she just picks fights with me. We both know she likes you better."

Ouch. That's awkward.

"Yes, she's my mother but– so, don't go, then. Kara, if you don't want to be alone with her, then don't go. No. No, Kara, I'm not– so bring some of your friends from work, I don't care. Kara, I'll be miserable," the woman wines. "Well, yes, I'll be even more miserable if you take the booze away, whose side are you on?" There's a long pause, and then, "Wow, that's a low blow."

Maggie's half way through tugging on an impulse-try dress and freezes.

No argument comes though. Instead, "I love you, too. No, that's not a good enough reason, I'm still not going."

Maggie pulls off the dress.

"Ow, fuck. No, no, you goof, just the zipper. A… a dress. Green. I know, I know, you like me in green. I get it. Please, stop. Um, it looks… I don't know? I mean, sure, I guess. No. God, no, Kara, come on, it's me. Just because I'm trying on a dress does not mean I'm coming to Thanksgiving."

Maggie laughs to herself; if the woman only ever wears black, then her trying on a dress likely does means she is going to see her family for Thanksgiving.

She puts the shirt she likes back on and tries on the pair of tight black jeans she picked out. She doesn't look half bad. She looks herself up and down in the mirror for a moment longer before deciding to get both items.

"No, it isn't strapless. No, it doesn't," she grunts, "just, let me just send you a picture."

Well, this is probably going to get weird fast. Maggie hastily changes out of the clothes and into her own. She does not need to hear any more of this conversation.

There's a sound of the phone clicking a picture, and a long pause.

Maggie actually hears the shriek from the other end of the phone when the girlfriend sees the picture.

And then the woman is replying in a flustered voice, "Kara, I do not need my baby sister telling me I look like a hot piece of ass. Ever. No, I don't. Kara, stop. No, it's not, Kara, it's not sexy, no. Please, stop."

Maggie halts.

Sisters is considerably less weird. But she's still leaving. She's listened-in enough on this woman's private conversation.

"Okay, fine, alright, I'll go look in the big mirror. No, I think you're wrong, I think the camera just distorted it. I look terrible. Hang on." The stall door opens as the woman steps out into the little hallway where there is front and side mirrors and a small runway set up.

Maggie waits for a few beats, giving the woman a moment to appraise herself before finding out someone heard her entire conversation.

She gathers her things in her arms and slips out of the fitting room stall.

The woman is standing at the miniature runway, her back to Maggie as she looks at herself in the mirror.

Maggie's eyes roam up and down and her mouth dries, because, damn, this girl looks good.

It's a simple dress, a rich green that slopes off one shoulder. Maggie's eyes widen as she takes in the woman's creamy long legs that are on display. She's barefoot.

Before Maggie can even pretend to have not been checking her out, their eyes meet in the mirror. The woman's face reddens, but she smiles at Maggie. She has soft eyes and a sweet, shy smile. Maggie can't help but smile back.

She gives the phone in her hand a little shake and rolls her eyes, as if to say,  _Sisters, right?_

Maggie does not have a sister but finds herself nodding anyway.

She stands silently, watching Maggie through the mirror as if unconsciously waiting for something.

Maggie's eyes drift over her figure again, first over her backside and those long, long legs. And then in the mirror, looking at her front, her cleavage, her face, her eyes.

The dress is elegant, nothing flashy, but the woman looks radiant in it.

She looks as if she's holding her breath, waiting for Maggie to say something. She still holds the phone near her ear, listening to her sister, but her eyes are locked with Maggie's.

Her gaze is a little too intense and it makes Maggie squirm.

The woman waits.

Maggie doesn't say anything. But she bites her lip and lifts her eyebrows, making it clear she likes what she sees. The woman's eyes widen and her cheeks pink further. Maggie winks and then slips out of the fitting rooms. She hears the woman sigh and then go back to talking with her sister.

She wanders the aisles again, fingers drifting over fabric as she browses. Maggie gathers a few more items, trying to be a little more daring this time, and makes her way to the fitting rooms for the second time. It's empty, and she's not sure if she's relieved or disappointed.

When Maggie ends up in line at the checkout, she has a pair of jeans and three tops in her arms. And she's convinced her aunt will approve of each of them. There are two other women ahead of her in line. Maggie shifts her weight to one side, cocking her hip as she waits.

As the cashier calls the next person in line, Maggie realises she's behind the woman from the fitting rooms. She's looking down at her phone, texting with one hand, while the green dress is carefully draped over her other arm.

Maggie shifts back and to her other side, trying to put some distance between them. She does not need this woman to think she's following her. She's cute, but Maggie is mostly past her hooking up phase of life. Most people her age have found their soulmates by now. It's hard to find a cute girl that's available, that's willing to live the ill-fated fantasy until the real thing comes along.

It's fine. Maggie's accepted it now.

"Did you find everything you were looking for?" the cashier is saying to the woman at the counter. Maggie drags her eyes away from the girl with the dress and lets herself be distracted by the checkout instead.

Check out indeed.

What is wrong with her today?

The woman laying her items on the counter is hot. She's in tight, dark jeans with pointed, brown leather boots. She shifts, turning to the side and leaning her hip on the counter, and Maggie sees she's wearing a dark blouse under her brown leather jacket. Her red painted lips and loose wavy hair complete the look and Maggie is thoroughly distracted.

"Yes, I did, thanks. Oh, but I have something on hold. For Lane?"

The cashier nods, saying he'll be right back before disappearing into the back room to look for the clothing put on hold.

Maggie is not sure which of the two hot women to look at so she ends up looking at her shoes instead. She's getting too old for this. She's almost thirty. She needs to stop caring, stop letting it get to her. She's alone, it'll stay that way, it's fine.

A harried looking woman rushes up to the counter, "I'll take who's next, I'll take who's next," she says, waving the woman with the dress forward to the other till.

The woman does not notice Maggie behind her. Which is undoubtedly for the best.

"Just, um, just this," she says as she gently lays the dress on the counter like she's not used to handling something so delicate.

The cashier lifts the dress up, admiring it while searching for the tag. "Oh, this is lovely, dear."

Maggie's eyes flick away briefly, and she sees the second woman, the one in the jacket, leaning against the counter and blatantly watching the one with the dress. She has about the same look on her face Maggie was wearing not long ago.

Is it weird to check out a woman while she checks out a woman you've previously been staring at?

"Uh, thanks. I wasn't sure if… I'm not a… not a dress person, usually." Her words are shy, and she shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Oh, no," the cashier insists, typing into her machine and then giving the handheld to the woman to scan her card. "This is lovely." She looks down at the dress and then up at the woman, "The colour suits you perfectly, it brings out your eyes."

The woman awkwardly waves a hand in the air, as if brushing the comment off. Then she nervously runs her hand through her short hair. "I'm, it's not…" She tries to complete the transaction with one hand, holding the machine and typing her pin.

There is a loud bang that echoes through the store.

In the brief instant of quiet that follows, three things happen.

The bang was loud and sharp enough that it has Maggie tensing, eyes flying in the direction of the noise as her body coils and her hand flies to her hip, where her gun would be.

The woman with the dress tenses as well, her shyness forgotten. One hand moves to her hip – she isn't carrying now, but the action is so instinctual Maggie assumes she must be in law enforcement as well. Her other hand slides into her purse, which is lying on the counter. She doesn't draw anything out, but she assesses the situation, tense and ready.

The second woman reacts similarly. She takes a step away from the counter and towards the noise, one arm loose at her side while the other curves towards the small of her back, waiting to draw something that isn’t there.

There is another bang, and the sound of something hard crashing to the ground and shattering. A small child starts wailing and a woman's voice can be heard underneath, hushing and scolding.

All three women relax. They share a look between them, acknowledging their shared reaction. The woman in the jacket's eyes are like steel as she scans the area, but she goes back to cocking one hip against the counter casually.

The cashier starts to rattle off an apology – the dress woman waves her off and the cashier darts away to go sort out exactly what's happened.

Maggie watches, unable to look away, as the woman with the dress leans over the counter, stretching out and trying to find the button that will print off her receipt and finish the transaction. She also gropes unsuccessfully for a plastic bag; the display falling over had caused the cashier to drop the one she was holding, about to pack up the green dress.

Maggie can't help it. The girl's ass is right there. After a moment she looks away, only to see the second woman staring at exactly what Maggie was staring at.

This is too much.

The woman in the jacket looks over at Maggie, aware she's been caught checking out the woman's ass, and winks. She tilts her head to the side and gives a teasing look.  _Come on, you were looking, too._

They both look back as the woman lands back down on the flats of her feet, receipt in hand and face scrunching as she debates bothering with a plastic bag for her purchase or not.

"She's right, you know," the second woman says.

The girl startles, seemingly forgetting that she wasn't alone. She turns, looking at the woman standing a few feet away. Then she tilts her head slightly, eyebrows drawing together in question.

"That really is your colour. I'm sure that dress looks amazing on you." She licks her lips.

The woman with the dress stares, lips parting with surprise. She doesn't say anything; she just stares in utter disbelief. Her wallet drops out of her hand and onto the counter, completely forgotten. She makes a breathy sound of surprise.

The second woman frowns, not expecting such a strong reaction to the casual compliment. Her eyes flit to Maggie's as if looking for confirmation that,  _this is weird, right?_

The woman's face has gone completely red and her eyes are so, so wide. She waits, like she's expecting more, but when the second woman doesn't offer anything else, she speaks.

She starts stuttering, and that's when Maggie understands, that's when she feels her stomach drop.

"Oh, um, thanks. I…" she's shaking her head like she can't believe what's happening. "Uh…" She looks the woman up and down, "I like your…" Her eyes lock on the stylish leather, "I like your boots?" She sounds unsure of herself.

The jacket woman's mouth drops open in shock, comprehension dawning. She gives a disbelieving chuckle.

Neither woman says anything more; they continue to stare at each other like they are each waiting for the other to make the first move to acknowledge what's just transpired.

Maggie cannot believe this is actually happening.

Right in front of her.

It's bad enough that Maggie's had this interaction tattooed permanently on her skin for over fifteen years, that it's refused to leave no matter what she tried. It's bad enough that she had to suffer with this secret, holding the knowledge that she did not have a soulmate. That she was broken and had someone else's words on her skin instead of words she could cherish as her own.

But to have to see it play out right in front of her? To actually stand here and watch fate happen?

It stings.

It stings like no tomorrow.

Maggie Sawyer knows pain. She's been bruised and knocked about, shoved in the dirt, beaten and bloodied, and been shot and stabbed more than once on the job. Maggie is no stranger to pain.

But nothing has ever hurt like this.

There is pain in her stomach and in her eyes and in her heart.

She looks back and forth between the women, unbelieving. A soft, "fuck," falls from her lips.

And then she's dropping the clothes she'd intended to buy for Thanksgiving weekend and bolting out of the store.

* * *

Maggie doesn't really register that someone is calling her, that the women are following her until a hand is reaching out and grabbing her arm.

Maggie is an officer and a detective and teaches self-defence classes at the youth centre. She reacts immediately to the woman with the dress taking hold of her.

But the woman with the dress is trained too, and avoids Maggie's attack, countering easily. She drops Maggie's arm and takes a large step backwards, hands up and showing she meant no harm.

"We just want to talk," the second woman says, arriving a few steps behind. She has the first woman's dress and wallet in her hands, and she hands them to their owner numbly, eyes not leaving Maggie's.

Maggie gives her a guarded look, crosses her arms over her chest and tries to look dark and imposing.

The woman frowns and looks to the first for support.

The first woman still looks rather mystified, "Was that… I mean…" she looks back and forth between Maggie and the jacket woman. "What just… Two?"

Two? Two what?

They're all standing outside the store, mere steps away from the parking lot, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon.

Maggie has never felt so lost.

The second woman seems to have a better handle on what's going on. She holds out her hand, first to the other woman and then to Maggie. "Lucy Lane, Major. United States army."

Maggie has no idea, absolutely no fucking idea, why she is holding her hand out to Maggie. What does Maggie have to do with anything? Lucy's soulmate is standing right there. Why is she looking at Maggie?

But something makes her return the handshake.

She glances down.

There are words on Lucy's wrist.

 

**oh, um, thanks, i, uh, i like your, i like your boots**

fuck

 

Maggie stares for a long moment, unblinking, and then yanks her hand back, jerking away as if she's been burned.

Two lines of words.

Two different handwritings.

Maggie's handwriting.

Maggie said, "fuck," right before she ran.

What is happening?

"What is happening?" she says because she is at a complete loss. Her voice is a lot more panicked than she wants it to be.

"Well, I mean," Lucy says, "I think it's obvious."

The other woman still looks dumbfounded. "I had no idea I was…"

"Poly?" Lucy supplies.

"Gay. That, I mean. That, too. But also, gay."

Lucy snorts, Maggie shakes her head and smirks, and the other woman still looks confused.

Lucy starts howling with laughter. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasps when she sees the other woman's eyes widen in fear, in alarm, "I'm not laughing at you. That's rough. But this, this is hilarious, this is all so hilarious."

The other woman smiles nervously, eyes moving between Lucy and Maggie. But she offers her hand. "Agent Danvers. Alex. Uh… FBI."

"That's hot," the words fall right out of Lucy's mouth. She looks startled at her own outburst, but shrugs it off, looking at Maggie expectantly.

Two?

Two soulmates?

Is that possible?

"You going to tell us your name? Or are we going to have to guess?" Lucy asks.

Alex smiles encouragingly at her, nodding slightly.

"This, this can't be real." She pauses a moment, then gives in, "Maggie Sawyer. Detective with NCPD, Science Division."

Alex's eyes light up.

Lucy laughs again. "So  _clearly_  we all have a type."

Maggie and Alex stand there dumbly, looking around the circle. Alex, because she was unaware she was even into girls. Maggie, because she always assumed the words were a mistake. She spent her life hating them, trying to remove them. And now there's a chance they were right?

Maggie's mind is spinning.

Lucy takes charge of the situation. "Danvers, get your car and meet us here. Sawyer, you and I are going to go pay for our shit, and then the three of us are going to go for coffee." She studies them both for a moment, taking in their features and posture. "Or alcohol," she amends.

"I rode my bike, actually," Alex says, nodding towards the closest parking spot to where they stand.

Lucy looks over to where there is not one, but two motorcycles parked.

She looks back at Alex, and then at Maggie, a smirk of a question on her face.

Maggie huffs. "Yeah, the other is mine."

Alex barks out a laugh.

"This is fantastic," Lucy mutters to herself, eyes dancing in amusement. "It's like Christmas."

* * *

They end up at a nearby restaurant. Lucy flings herself down on one side of the booth, and Maggie can see from the way that Lucy holds her sprawl for a moment too long that she's trying to claim that side of the booth as her own, that she doesn't want either of them to sit next to her. Lucy seems to be taking this whole situation better than Maggie or Alex, but it's clear she still needs her space.

Maggie slides into the other side of the booth, scooting right over so that she's pressed against the wall. Alex sits down next to her, leaving an ocean of space between them.

A waiter comes over and he smiles happily at them, taking their orders. Maggie orders fries, wanting something to pick at, an excuse for her hands to fidget at the table. The others order food. All three of them order a beer.

Maggie can see Alex's fingers twitch like she wants something stronger, but she doesn't change her order.

They all sit in silence, watching and studying each other until the waiter arrives with their drinks.

Alex practically lunges for hers, taking a long pull. Her breathing is regular, but her eyes look alarmed.

Maggie shifts closer, still keeping a careful space between them. But she bumps her shoulder into Alex's, then clinks her drink with Alex's – and raises it towards Lucy, making eye contact – before taking a drink.

Maggie puts her drink down and looks at Alex again. She's looking back and forth between Lucy and Maggie, but there's a small smile on her lips now. Maggie says lightly, "You're handling the gay panic pretty well, Danvers."

"I…"

Lucy says, with a softness in her voice, "You really had no idea?"

"I mean, I never thought… But I guess that… I mean it…"

Maggie can practically see the memories flashing in Alex's eyes. The poor girl looks like her world has been turned upside down. She looks confused, reflective, but she doesn't look devastated. There's shy excitement on her face.

Maggie looks across the table to Lucy, tilting her head.

"Me? Oh, I've been happily bisexual since my teens. You?"

"Same. But no dudes. Just gay."

Lucy nods and then looks at Alex fondly. "Danvers, you doing okay over there?"

"Yeah, I just…"

"Realising that it makes sense?" Maggie offers. "All the pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together? Things you hadn't thought about in a long time coming back? Making you rethink everything?"

Alex nods, still bewildered, but she looks back and forth between the two women and only sees compassion, sees an understanding. They've both been where she is, had the same thoughts and fears as her, and they're still standing. She seems to take comfort from their caring, gentle smiles, their steady posture, their concern about her startling realisation and understandable fear.

Her body relaxes into the booth and she lets out a long breath. She doesn't look quite as panicked anymore. She's calm right now, and Maggie figures she's still got a lot of processing to do later. But for the moment, Alex is okay.

Their food arrives, and there's an easy silence as they all quietly take their first few bites.

Content that Alex is not going to internally combust, Maggie lets her own thoughts and memories begin to surface.

It's obvious that Alex and Lucy belong together; it's been carved into Maggie's skin for half her life. But she still doesn't believe that she fits into this. She doesn't really believe that there has always been someone, two someones, out there for her.

Maggie's had a damaged childhood and doesn't think she's accomplished much in her life. She doesn't really believe that she's worthy of a soulmate's love, much less two of them.

She still doesn't understand how this is real. Lucy and Alex very much followed  _Maggie_ out of that store. They had exchanged their fated words with each other, and then stood there stupidly, but it was Maggie they followed, Maggie that sparked them into action. She doesn't really understand how she fits into all this, why and how she can fit into this.

Alex and Lucy have found each other, their soulmate is sitting across the table from them. The rest of their life is waiting for them. And yet for some reason, Maggie has been dragged into this.

Her eyes find Lucy's wrist.

Lucy turns her hand over, leaning forward and offering it easily across the table, all without even looking up at Maggie. She continues with her burger with her other hand.

Hands reaching out hesitantly, shaking slightly, Maggie goes to pull the offered hand closer. She pauses, and Lucy looks up at her, smiling gently. She nods. There's a warmness, a fondness in her eyes.

Maggie drags Lucy's wrist a little closer, elbowing her fries out of the way.

Alex stills with her food and watches, looking down at the words as well.

 

**oh, um, thanks, i, uh, i like your, i like your boots**

fuck

 

And there it is. It isn't much, but it is enough for Maggie to recognise her own handwriting, the way she curls her f's in her own unique way. It's the only thing Maggie had said while in the store, but it's inked into Lucy's wrist as if it belongs there.

Her thumb lightly, softly, traces over the two lines of words, and she feels Lucy's hand twitch with a shiver. But Lucy doesn't pull away.

She's still not convinced that this isn't some kind of joke. She's gone too long hating the words, hating herself, for one word carved on a stranger's skin to make her believe this is real, that this is happening, that she deserves this.

She looks at Alex. "Can I…?" The words hang between them, broken and stilted.

Alex smiles wide, eyes crinkling in her excitement to show off her mark. She shifts in her seat so that she's half turned towards Maggie, and then she lifts her arm. The words curl on the inside of her bicep.

 

_she's right, you know, that really is your colour, i'm sure that dress looks amazing on you_

fuck

 

The second line, Maggie's one word, looks exactly the same. The ink is identical to what's on Lucy's wrist, which Maggie still holds in her hands reverently.

The curving, lovely writing and the sharp, hasty scrawl are both the same as what's on Maggie's hip, but it's her own penmanship staring back at her that has Maggie so quiet, that has Maggie trapped in stunned disbelief.

Alex sees Lucy watching, eyes warm, and blushes red even as she gives her muscle a little flex. Lucy laughs into her drink and eases her hand out of Maggie's hold and back across the table.

"Can we see yours?" Alex asks.

Maggie's entire body stiffens, seizes.

No one has ever seen her mark. It's been years since Maggie has even looked at it herself. She spent her school years keeping it covered, keeping it hidden away so no one could see the truth to how damaged she was, could see the truth spelled out that Maggie Sawyer was a failure. The only times she's allowed women close enough to her body to see the tattoo, it's been blacked out, barred from her skin, barred from their eyes, barred from her own.

Alex senses her tension, easing her body forward so her leg presses against Maggie's. She lays her hand slowly onto Maggie's arm, watching her reaction. Her fingers squeeze and she says, "It's okay, you don't have to."

"Your mark not in a place to show in public?" Lucy's voice is teasing, but her eyes are focused, concerned.

"No, it's not that, it's…"

It's that her soulmark, the skin underneath and all around, is crisscrossed with scars. Old and faded lines are etched into Maggie's skin, glaring proof of her youth spent trying to force the words from her body.

They wait, quietly, for Maggie to speak. But Maggie can't say anything. Old wounds have been dug up, raw and sore and she can't get a handle on them. She doesn't know how to tell these women she's spent her life trying to carve the proof of their existence out of her.

Lucy smiles sadly at her but sees that Maggie, for whatever reason, can't go on. So she draws the attention away from Maggie's pain. "So, Danvers. You didn't realise you were into ladies. Did you at least realise your mark was from two different people?"

Alex's hand is still warm on Maggie's arm. She watches Maggie for a moment longer before answering, laughing nervously, "Um, no, no, I… I did not."

Lucy lifts her brow, questioning and challenging and shaking her head. "What, exactly, did you think it meant that you had two different people's handwriting on your arm?"

"I didn't really consider it?" Alex says honestly. "They were similar enough writing, I thought it was just, an afterthought? I thought it was someone complimen-flir-" she looks like she doesn't know which option is less embarrassing, "talking with me and that they were just muttering 'fuck' to themself, not directly to me. As an afterthought. I thought it was like, a funny joke."

"A joke," Lucy repeats.

"Yeah. I've seen some unique soulmate marks. My sister's– not important. It, it never crossed my mind that it belonged to more than one person." She frowns at Lucy, picking up her beer with her free hand. "Did you?" she sounds sceptical.

"Not at first, no," Lucy sighs. "And not fully, but I've entertained the idea a few times over the years. I've always just liked people. And I had a friend who-" she pauses, steeling herself, "I had a friend who was poly. He had two partners, and he had two different lines on his ribs, one for each of them. So I knew what it looked like, what it could mean, having more than one soulmate. I knew it was a possibility.

"Your handwriting is very different," she goes on, looking between Maggie and Alex. "So I wasn't really sure what to make of it. But yeah, I considered it meant I had two people to wait for. Mostly, I was distracted with the knowledge that I'd meet my soulmate while the person awkwardly tripped over their words trying to flirt with me."

Alex goes red again.

Lucy winks at her, "It's cute. It was cute. And it was a nice thing to look at every morning. You made me smile, long before you met me, Danvers."

Alex drops both arms to the table, jostling the plates, and sinks her head into her arms in embarrassment.

Lucy nods towards Maggie, encouraging her. When Maggie doesn't move, just looks at her in confusion, Lucy gestures with her hands.

Maggie tentatively lays a hand on Alex's back. Alex starts, tenses, and then relaxes. Maggie rubs a slow circle.

Alex mumbles something that sounds like, "I hate everything," but there's laughter at her own discomfort in her voice.

Unprompted, the waiter appears, placing three glasses of water on the table, one for each of them. He eyes Alex wearily, and Lucy says lightly, "Don't worry, she's good, just embarrassed," and he nods and removes their empty plates.

When he's gone Alex groans again but lifts her head.

"All in good fun, Danvers," Lucy teases, but it's playful, not mocking. She holds up her wrist, where Alex's embarrassment is branded for the world to see. "I'm never going to let you forget how awkward and adorable that was."

"Never," Alex repeats slowly, and it echoes across the table. Never. Soulmates. Forever.

Forever.

Something like fear flickers inside Maggie's chest, small but very real. She reaches for her beer and finishes it in one big gulp.

Alex frowns at her. "You don't have to, but, what about you? Did you know that…?" she waves her hand between Lucy and herself.

They both watch her quietly, waiting, but not rushing, not demanding. When Lucy catches Maggie's eyes with her own, she takes a slow, exaggerated deep breath for Maggie's benefit, and Maggie mimics her.

When she's calm, she says, "I've done a lot of volunteer work since I became a cop. I've worked at a few youth centres over the years. The one I help at now, it's a…" she glances at Alex carefully, "a queer youth centre. There are all kinds of kids there, all of them amazing." She pauses, lost for a moment as she thinks of them.

Alex lays her hand on Maggie's arm again, and it sparks her back into her story. "There's a few that are," she says the word gently, testing it out, "poly. But I never, I never thought to ask about their soulmate marks. I didn't…" She sighs and says bitterly, "It would have saved me a lot of heartache."

Lucy frowns. "How so?"

"I thought that you two were… were for each other. That something… went wrong with me. My mark, it's, it's clearly two different people, but I never thought that you were… mine." Her words are a whisper, hardly there at all. "Both of you."

"Oh, Maggie," Alex says. She looks like she wants to do more, like maybe hug Maggie, but she holds herself back, settling for just running her fingers up and down Maggie's arm.

Maggie tries to brush off their concern. "It's cool, I got over it. Tortured youth, right?"

Neither of them laugh.

"I figured you two were for each other and my soulmark was a mistake, that I didn't have someone." Maggie curls in on herself, trying to shrug out of Alex's touch.

Alex just crowds closer, like comforting touch is a language she speaks. Aside from their legs pressing together and her hand on Maggie's arm, she doesn't touch Maggie any further. But her presence is warm and close and comforting. Despite her own trepidation with the situation, her focus is on Maggie and making sure Maggie is okay, that Maggie doesn't run again.

Lucy reaches forward, laying her palm facing up on the table. She wiggles her fingers, looking pointedly at Maggie, who slowly, slowly, takes Lucy's hand. Lucy squeezes, once. She leans across the table now, so she can offer her other hand to Alex, who takes it without hesitation.

"We can't take your old pain away," Lucy soothes. "But we can help to ease it now, keep there from being any more."

"We're here for you Maggie. Um, for forever, I guess?" Alex's eyes go wide and she looks to Lucy with alarm, startled by the seriousness of her own words.

But Lucy is steady and calm, grounding them both. "Let's leave the forever talk for later. How about we just focus on today, alright?"

* * *

They end up at Alex's apartment.

They talk for hours.

Maggie learns about Lucy's life growing up as an army brat; growing up with a distant father, an absent mother, and a sister more interested in the world around her than in looking out for her baby sister. How when she was eleven she fell out of a tree and broke her arm, and then, five months later, she slipped while running around a pool and broke her other arm.

She hears about Lucy's time at West Point, and later at Harvard, where studying did not come easily to Lucy, where she nearly failed more than once and contemplated dropping out. But her father's gruff nature and her sister's heavy shadow pushed her forward, and she earned her degree and a commission with the army.

Lucy speaks fondly of her work as a court prosecutor with JAG, that she works for justice the same as Maggie does. Maggie learns that as a child Lucy was afraid of water, of swimming, and is still afraid of bees. She learned she was bisexual quite young, but kept it close to her chest most of her life.

She tells them about how she's been working to repair her broken relationship with her sister, how she's been reaching out but Lois isn't ready yet. How Lucy repairing the bond with her sister is straining the bond with her father, because Lois began disagreeing with and challenging their father the moment she could talk, and they no longer speak.

They start on the couch, but first Lucy, and then Alex and Maggie, end up migrating onto the floor, pushing the coffee table out of their way.

There are soft, hesitant touches every so often as they learn one another and become comfortable with each other's presence.

Alex lays a hand on Maggie's knee when she laughs so hard she needs to ground herself.

Maggie drags Lucy's feet into her lap when Lucy grows quiet, remembering her mother.

Lucy fiddles with Alex's hair gently as she growls about politics.

Maggie lays with her head on Alex's shins while she laments about giving up softball.

Of Alex, Maggie learns that she grew up on the water, that the beach and the surf and the sun are her home, are her calm. She hears the fondness in Alex's voice when she speaks of Kara, how she was embarrassing and annoying when her parents first adopted her sister, but now she's the centre of Alex's world.

Alex tells them about her father dying and of her mother's depression, struggling to care for two girls and hiding from them how much it hurt losing her soulmate, not wanting to spoil their childhood, when their own soulmate marks were just appearing. How Alex became the head of the family, caring for Kara and supporting her mother while struggling with her own anger at losing her father.

Maggie learns that Alex taught surfing to little kids during her high school and university summers. How she skipped a grade in elementary school and was offered to skip again twice more but refused both times because she was embarrassed, she only wanted to fit in, not stand out, not be the know-it-all.

She glosses over her time at med school, telling them she's a doctor and a bioengineer and not offering much else about her graduate schooling. She does offer details about her work with the government, how she travels a lot, trains often with weapons and hand-to-hand, and has met numerous government officials and world leaders. Her work takes her away, but she keeps her place in National City, close to Kara, because she'll always watch out for Kara.

Maggie finds herself taking in everything they offer, hearing every detail, memorising the way they speak and move as they tell their stories.

She's been deprived of this, been depriving herself of this, for so long that it's strange now; willingly letting herself bond with people, enjoying their presence.

She feels heavy, and she feels light.

Maggie tells them about her aunt, about escapades learning to drive and disasters skating on frozen ponds. How her aunt always kept oranges in the house, even though she hated them because they were Maggie's favourite. She tells them how her aunt refused Maggie getting a pet growing up, but turned around and bought a dog the minute Maggie left for university. She tells them about her own dog, and how they go for runs after every shift.

They don't ask, they don't press, but she can see in Alex and Lucy's eyes, their curiosity about her parents, how her stories all start at her mid-teens. She keeps it short and sweet: they didn't have a lot of money, they found out she was gay and didn’t take it well, and she hasn't seen them in years. Her aunt is the centre of her stories, her aunt is the one that raised her, her aunt is the one she is excited to share with them.

While Maggie and Alex bond over undergraduate science experiments gone wrong, Lucy wanders Alex's kitchen, exploring.

She does not find much, and when she demands Alex feed her, empty refrigerator or no, Alex doesn't move from where she lays with her head in Maggie's lap.

She just points, to a rack that hangs on the side of the counter, stuffed full of takeout menus.

They argue for way too long about food. Lucy and Maggie finally agree on Thai food, and Alex ends up ordering a pizza for herself.

They're half way through their food when Alex's cell rings. She stares, unmoving and glaring at it where it sits face down on the coffee table, like she's afraid to answer it, like it means she will be forced to leave the peaceful bubble they've settled in.

It's twilight now. They have no lights turned on in the apartment. The curtains are open, letting the dim dusky light in. It's the time of evening where the light from outside doesn't illuminate the room much, though it's enough to see by. They haven't yet descended into the darkness that will require them to turn on a lamp.

It feels safe and cosy and the ringing phone fractures it immediately.

"It might be work," Alex says, apologising. "It might be an emergency."

Maggie and Lucy both wave her off.

She crawls over Lucy's legs and reaches for her phone on the table, and Lucy swats at her playfully. Alex breathes out when she sees who it is.

"Hey, Kara."

The fondness in Alex's voice when she spoke about Kara is still present when she speaks directly to her. Maggie smiles.

"So… what?" She looks confused. "Did I get  _what_? What does  _what_  look like?"

"The dress," Maggie supplies.

"Oh," Alex says, speaking to Kara but smiling dumbly at Maggie. "Oh, the dress. Yeah, I bought it. It looks, um."

"Hot," Maggie says.

Alex ignores her. "Uh, no, you can't… not right now? I'm uh, I've got…"

Lucy chooses that moment to take the last slice of pizza from the box.

"Hey, that's mine!" Alex says, right into the phone.

"You snooze, you lose, Danvers." Lucy says, scooting backwards and out of Alex's reach.

Alex laughs, eyes on Lucy as she continues talking to her sister. "Yeah, I, I'm not alone. Um…"

" _Wait, Alex, did you buy The Dress?_ " is shrieked so loud through the phone that Maggie and Lucy can both hear Kara clearly. Alex yanks the phone away from her ear, squinting and shaking her head like she’s trying to get water out of her ear.

To Maggie, Alex does not seem like a dress person, but she wonders how often she tried them on anyway, waiting for her soulmate to speak up.

Alex looks back and forth between Lucy and Maggie, smiling with eyes glossy. "Yeah, Kara, I did. I gotta go. I'll call you later, okay? Yeah, I love you, too."

They only get another twenty minutes together before a phone rings again, Maggie's this time. And this time, it is work calling.

She opens her mouth to apologise, to explain, but Lucy shakes her head. "No, it's late. I should probably head out too." She looks to Alex, "We can let Alex catch up with Kara, tell her how her smokin' dress helped her pick up not one, but two hot chicks."

"You didn't even see me in the dress, Lane."

"Oh, I can imagine."

Alex shakes her head but doesn't blush this time.

"I'll walk you out, Sawyer?"

Maggie nods, gathering her things.

They all linger at Alex's door, unsure. What is the protocol for saying goodbye here? They've only just met, this may or may not have turned into a date, and they already know they're going to spend their lives together. But they've only just met. It's confusing for all of them.

Lucy breaks the tension, rising up on her toes and kissing Alex's cheek. "Until next time, Danvers." She says, voice flirty and low.

Maggie smirks at how wide Alex's pupils get and feels her own face flush watching them.

Alex reaches out, pulling Maggie into a tentative hug. Maggie follows Lucy's lead, kissing Alex near her jaw, and then at the corner of her mouth, before pulling back. "Bye, Alex."

Alex nods. Swallows thickly. "Bye."

Maggie takes Lucy's hand, waves at Alex, and disappears down the hall.

When they reach the street parking outside Alex's building, Maggie speaks up. "That was probably mean."

"Oh, definitely mean. She's probably still standing in the doorway."

Maggie looks over at Lucy, eyes challenging. "So what about me? Do I get a teasing goodbye kiss, too?"

Lucy's response is to immediately grab Maggie's arms and shove her against the wall of the building. Her body is warm where she's pressed flush against Maggie. "I don't know," Lucy breathes into Maggie's ear, hot and taunting. "That might be mean, too. I think I'd rather see Alex's face the first time I kiss you."

Maggie takes a slow breath and Lucy chuckles. She takes a step back, and the cool evening air rushes in. Maggie feels gooseflesh rise on her skin, but isn't sure if it's from the cold or from Lucy's teasing.

"Night, Sawyer."

"Night, Lane."

She manages not to crash her bike on the way to the precinct.

Her captain takes one look at her – Maggie is aware she is smiling, is glowing, but she can't make it stop – and starts laughing knowingly.

Maggie doesn't remember the last time she felt this happy.

Maggie doesn't think she's ever felt this happy.

She realises that Lucy and Alex are her  _soulmates_. Like Alex said, forever.

And she realises that it means the happy feeling is going to stay.

Her hand presses against her hip, the first time she's touched the mark in years.

Maggie smiles.

* * *

Maggie's high crashes by the end of her shift.

One of her co-workers gets shot at while tracking down a suspect. He's fine, but Maggie realises how real this is.

She not only has one, but two soulmates that have been dropped into her life, without warning. And it's not like Maggie works a desk job. Her work can be unpredictable and dangerous, and although she's not reckless, she is a risk taker. She'll put her life on the line because she fiercely believes in justice, in standing up.

And Maggie's lived her life thinking she didn't have a soulmate. That's impacted how she views the world, how she reacts to the world. She didn't think she had destiny waiting down the line. So what if she took the late nights, the longer shifts, the more dangerous cases. Her view has always been better her than someone else, someone who does have a soulmate waiting for them at the end of the shift.

But now, Maggie has people she needs to think of. Suddenly she has people besides her aunt who will truly care if something happens to her. Suddenly she has a reason to care about what happens to herself.

It's not like Alex and Lucy aren't in the same boat as her, their jobs seem just as volatile.

But it feels like the knowledge of how hazardous her job is, how unnecessarily dangerous she makes her life – goes out of her way to make her life so that other's don't have to – is suddenly crashing into her.

The drop leaves her reeling, and she spends a long time in the washroom at work, staring herself down in the mirror at the end of her shift.

Her phone buzzes every so often, the group chat growing in length as they start to learn each other.

She's happy now. She has this happiness, this feeling of completeness, blooming and growing inside her.

But Maggie's carried her depression, and the evidence of her depression, for a long time. It's not like that will simply disappear now that destiny has unexpectedly arrived.

And Maggie's lived her life thinking she didn't  _deserve_  a soulmate.

It's hard to undo that.

One afternoon with her soulmates can't undo that. Won't undo that.

But it is a starting point.

Eventually, Maggie will share the heavy and painful points of her life with them. Eventually, Maggie will tell them of how hotly and constantly her hip burned with the reminder that she was broken. Eventually, Maggie will show them not just the scars on her hip, but the ones on her soul as well.

For now, she ignores her phone and goes home. She takes her dog out for a long run and tries to sort out the slowly growing happiness inside her that is clashing so strongly with the anguish and sorrow that are engraved into her from being in pain for so long.

Maggie knows she can’t undo the years of pain, of thinking she was destined to be alone, but maybe Lucy and Alex can help her heal from it.

* * *

Two weeks later Maggie flies into Lincoln Airport. The beat up car she learned to drive in is still kicking and is waiting for her, just like her aunt said it would be, just like it always is when Maggie comes home.

It's an hour-long drive to Maggie's aunt's house. And unfortunately, the car ride is tense.

After first meeting Lucy and Alex it’s two days before they are all free to see each other again. They go to a movie together, and then afterwards they go back to Lucy's place where she cooks for them. Lucy gets her wish, getting to see Alex's reaction when she kisses Maggie for the first time.

Considerably less talking happens that night.

They still talk, though, when the clothes fall away and they see the pain Maggie spent years carving into her soulmark. But their hands are soft, and their kisses and reassurances are softer. And most of the talking is left for another day when everything isn't so new and overwhelming.

When Lucy and Alex can reveal their own pain, their own time spent suffering and waiting.

Maggie and Lucy meet Kara the next evening when Alex drags them to her usual bar to meet her sister. Her sister's friends are also there, and Alex's entire body seizes up when she sees them from across the room.

Lucy and Maggie coax Alex back out into the parking lot. It's twenty minutes before they can calm her speeding heart. Her panic eases enough that she can breathe again, that she can find her words, but Alex can't go back into the bar. It's too much, too soon.

As Lucy helps Alex, who is pretending she isn't shaking like a leaf, into the car, Maggie calls Kara with Alex's phone. After assuring Kara that Alex is okay, that Alex will be okay, she's just a little freaked out, things are just going a little too fast for her right now, Maggie asks Kara if she can leave her friends for a little while and meet them at Alex's apartment instead.

Kara agrees before Maggie even finishes her sentence.

Lucy drives. Maggie sits in the back, staying close as Alex’s panic starts to recede. They both tell her that it's okay, that they're still proud of her, that it's valid that she is upset, that they understand her not being ready to introduce the two of them to more than just Kara. She's only just realised she's gay, neither of them blames her for not yet being comfortable saying she has not just one soulmate who is female, but two.

She was okay when it was just going to be Kara; it was seeing Kara's friends that sent her into a panic.

Maggie's place is actually closer to the bar, but an unspoken conversation passes between Lucy and Maggie, where it's agreed upon that Alex will feel safer, will feel more comfortable, introducing them to Kara in her own apartment.

Kara arrives with ice cream and fried food.

She registers Lucy and Maggie, hugs them both hello for the first time, but she beelines for her sister immediately afterwards, dropping onto the couch and curling her body around Alex's.

Maggie and Lucy step into the hall. They sit down, leaning against the door, while they give the sisters some time. Lucy talks about her own coming out, and Maggie hesitantly, painfully, reveals bits and pieces of her own. There’s no judgement from Lucy, just a warm hand on her knee.

Kara unexpectedly opens the door sometime later, and they both fall flat on their backs.

Alex's eyes are wet and red when Lucy and Maggie come back into the apartment. She's already told Kara about Maggie and Lucy, that there are two of them; she called Kara back that first night and has seen her in person since. But it's still a little overwhelming for her, telling Kara in person with her soulmates right there.

She pulls them onto the couch with her, one on either side, and Kara sits in the armchair across from them. And Alex properly introduces her girlfriends, her soulmates, to her sister.

That weekend, they sit in Maggie's kitchen, eating pancakes for breakfast and wearing only underwear and some of Maggie's oversized shirts.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?" Lucy asks, her back to the pair as she stands at the counter refilling their drinks.

"Avoiding my mother," Alex says, frowning. "Kara still wants me to come over, but," she trails off for a moment. "I'd rather not. We argue a lot. And I haven't told her yet, about, about us. About you two."

Maggie smiles at her, bumps Alex's shoulder with hers. "When you're ready, we'll be here for you. There's no rush, Danvers."

Alex tucks her chin, biting her lip bashfully but still managing to smile cheekily at Maggie. She looks over at Lucy, "What about you? Any plans?"

"Not a thing," Lucy says, turning and placing three filled glasses of orange juice on the table. "Dad's overseas, and Lois is still not ready to accept my olive branch."

"You're going to be alone on Thanksgiving?"

Lucy shrugs. "Wouldn't be the first time." She sees their concerned looks. "It's no big deal, you guys, really."

Maggie opens her mouth. "I… Why don't…" She looks back and forth between Lucy and Alex, words trying to trip from her tongue before she's even had a chance to think them through. "I'm flying back to Nebraska." She looks at them both, unsure of her words, "You could, I mean, if you want, uh…"

"Are you asking us to come home with you for Thanksgiving?" Alex asks.

"Yes?" Maggie has no idea why she's said what she has. Yes, they're soulmates, but it's only been a week. Is this okay? Everything about their relationship is confusing right now because they've only just met, but destiny, but forever, weighs heavy in the background. "I don't, I mean I've never…" She sounds like Alex, sputtering over her words.

Lucy looks at her closely, squinting slightly, but her face breaks into a smile. "I don't know about Alex, but I'd love to meet your aunt, Maggie."

Maggie's heart squeezes so suddenly she starts coughing, choking on absolutely nothing but her own emotions.

Lucy laughs at her and Alex rubs her back until she can breathe again.

"Smooth, Sawyer."

"Shut up, Lane."

Alex speaks over them. "If you want us to, I'd love to meet her, Maggie." She looks a little scared, but she leans closer, insisting. "I think it's a great idea. And I'm not just saying it because it means I can avoid my mother for a little longer."

Lucy laughs some more, and it's beginning to become one of Maggie's favourite sounds. That, and the huffing Alex makes when she's flustered, which is often.

The night before they fly out to Nebraska, they try meeting Kara and her friends again.

Kara invites Alex to game night at her place, and Alex actually trips over herself asking Maggie and Lucy if they want to come too.

The answer is, yes, of course, as long as you're okay, you know you don't need to pretend with us.

They arrive outside Kara's door, and Alex's hands shake. But she takes a deep breath and opens the door, pulling Maggie and Lucy with her.

Alex introduces them as Kara's friends, but it's clear to Maggie immediately that these people may have known Kara first, but they are Alex's friends too. They love her just as much as they love Kara. This is part of Alex's family.

It makes Maggie's heart bloom with happiness, knowing Alex has people in her life that love her this much.

The friends welcome Maggie and Lucy, a little stiffly at first – because two soulmates is not something they've encountered before, and Maggie doesn't blame them – but when they see how attuned to Alex both women are already, how obviously they care about her after only a short while, it's all warm smiles and light teasing from there. There's beer, and take out food, and Mario Kart, and Maggie doesn't stop smiling.

The flight from National City to Lincoln is tense, and the car ride is worse.

Because they may have met Alex's family, but this? This is the first time they're meeting a parent.

Maggie has never brought anyone home to her aunt before. She's dated; when she was young and soulmates were a far off thing for most, when they wanted to focus on the now and have fun for a little while. But she's never brought anyone home.

She also didn't  _tell_  her aunt she was bringing anyone home. She hasn't told her aunt anything.

Maggie wanted to, desperately. But they don't talk about soulmates. Her aunt lost hers while Maggie was little, and Maggie spent so long hiding the words on her hip, hating the words on her hip, that it's never been something they talk about.

It didn't feel like a conversation she should have over the phone.

"Are you sure this isn't going to be weird?" Lucy asks as they make their way up the long driveway. She's in the brown leather jacket she was wearing the first day they met. "Hey, slow down," she yanks back on the leash.

She looks comical, holding the lead for a dog that's almost as large as she is. That is as large as she is if he stands on his hind legs and puts his paws on her shoulders. Maggie is pretty sure the dog is going to end up dragging her into the mud, but Lucy insisted.

Maggie plants her feet a little firmer as she walks, holding Lucy's free hand in her own, prepared to brace Lucy back if she loses her balance.

"Because there's two of us," Alex asks, "or because it's only been two weeks?" She's wearing the dress from the day they met and is holding Maggie's free hand.

"The second one."

Maggie shrugs. "Straight kids do it all the time, introducing their soulmates to their parents right away. Don't see why I can't."

Not only that, but Maggie is excited to do this.

She's so nervous she might vomit. But she's also excited because this is real, Alex and Lucy are real people and they are hers, and she wants to share this with the only other person in her life that matters, the only person that has ever mattered.

"And the first one?"

Maggie isn't exactly sure how her aunt is going to react to two soulmates for her niece, but she squeezes Lucy's, and Alex's, hands reassuringly as they step up the porch.

There are three things her aunt sees when she opens the door.

The first is Maggie, a little early but finally here, finally home for the holidays. She hasn't seen her niece in person since the summer. She's dressed nicely in dark jeans, her favourite boots, and a black leather jacket, half un-zipped and with the colours of one of her new tops showing through, showing off that she actually owns something outside of her usual dull work clothes.

The second is the women on either side of Maggie. She sees the way the shorter one has her hand linked with Maggie's, fingers twitching nervously, and how the taller one has her arm slung around Maggie's shoulders, drawing her close. She can feel the nervous energy about them, both looking at Maggie's aunt with wide, uncertain eyes. And she sees the way all three lean into each other’s touch, drawing strength and assurance from each other. How Maggie leans her cheek into the arm across her shoulders, how Maggie's thumb soothes over the fingers clasped in her own.

The third thing she sees, and the only thing that really matters, is the beautiful, happy smile on Maggie's face. There is a panicked nervousness there, hiding beneath, and her body leans back slightly, hesitant and unsure. But her face blooms in a way it hasn't for a long, long time. Maggie's happiness cannot be contained, despite her nerves, and her eyes shine with a look, with a love, they've never carried before.

There's one drawn out moment where no one speaks.

The dog strains forward on his lead, trying to greet her aunt.

Maggie's face begins to harden, begins to fall.

Her aunt breaks into a smile that is genuine, not forced.

"Well, it's about time."

And then Maggie is being pulled across the threshold and into a fierce hug before she knows what to do with herself. It takes Maggie a second, and her eyes water and her hands shake, but she returns the hug, clinging to her aunt for a moment. The hug is strong and safe and warm, and everything she's missed since moving away. She can feel the love her aunt presses into her, can feel the acceptance as her arms hold Maggie tight.

They break apart, and her aunt's arms swing wide, gesturing Lucy and Alex inside. They smile nervously at each other but step through the doorway, Lucy with her hand at the small of Alex's back. She drops the leash and the dog charges forward, throwing himself against the legs of Maggie's aunt and entire back end wagging with his excitement.

Her aunt pets him distractedly, focusing on the two strangers.

"This is… they're…they’re my…" Maggie tries to introduce them, but the words catch in her throat.

"Lucy Lane," Lucy says, stepping forward and extending her hand. "And this is Alex Danvers."

"Roberta," her aunt answers, shaking Lucy's hand and then opening her arms a little, offering.

Lucy's wide eyes dart to Maggie's wet ones, but Maggie nods, and Lucy gives a nervous noise and lets herself be hugged by Maggie's aunt, a sigh escaping as she folds into her arms. Maggie melts as she watches.

Alex rocks on her heels, tense and anxious, but when Lucy steps back she offers her hand. They shake, and then she too lets herself be hugged by Maggie's aunt, but her body doesn't droop in spent relief of the warm welcome quite the way Lucy's does. Maggie drifts to Alex's side, shyly, hastily – because her aunt is standing right there – pressing her nose and her lips to Alex's cheek, not quite a kiss, but enough. Then she lets her hand smooth on the small of Alex's back, soothing the tension she carries.

Her aunt leads them into the kitchen, where warm food and warmer drinks wait after their long, anxious flight. Her aunt smiles fondly at Maggie, and draws her into another hug, saying, "I love you, baby. No matter what. Save the sad parts you've been hiding for later. For now, I want to hear you brag about these two beautiful girls."

A second wave relief floods into Maggie's system.

This is the woman who took her in, soaking wet and bruised and scared, when she no longer had a home. This is the woman who raised her, who taught her how to drive and how to hold back her anger at racist bigots with too much to say. This is the woman who picked up the pieces as Maggie broke down and cried over the years, never demanding answers but always offering comfort.

This is the woman who took her in and loved her once and is taking her in and loving her again.

She sits at the kitchen table. Lucy is on one side, leaning close and with her arm thrown over the back of Maggie's chair. Alex is on the other side, thigh pressing against Maggie's and fingers twiddling with Maggie's on the table while they all take turns talking over each other.

Her hip burns, with the knowledge and shame of what she hid from her aunt for so many years. Of what she hid from herself for too many years.

It burns with all of the nevers she carved into her skin, all of the hot pain and red anger that turned into weary sadness and grey defeat over the years.

She spent so long denying what she could be, thinking there was nothing that she could be.

But Maggie's chest also burns, stronger, with relief, with peace, with love.

Because she isn't alone anymore. She was drowning for so long, but now there are hands here, offering help, offering hope.

Alex and Lucy can't remove the pain Maggie has lived with for so long now. Her depression is a real and heavy weight. Destiny can't erase that. But they can help to ease her pain now, going forward, help it to fade and be replaced by the growing joy in her heart.

They will be with her when she cries, when it all comes rushing back, when she tells them what it was like to wait for them.

But they will also be there when she laughs, when they make her laugh, when she makes them laugh, because her heart feels light for the first time in years.

Her hip burns, but it no longer burns with shame.

It burns as a reminder that she's found them.

And here, in her aunt's kitchen in the middle of Nowhere, Nebraska, Maggie smiles as she rants and raves to her aunt about all that she's learned of these two women so far, and of all that she's excited to learn down the road.

 


End file.
